


Those You've Known (And Lost Still Walk Behind You)

by Jackdaw816



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Ghosts, Light Angst, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Episode: s02e06 Reset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26362417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackdaw816/pseuds/Jackdaw816
Summary: Torchwood is full of ghosts
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	Those You've Known (And Lost Still Walk Behind You)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Those You've Known" from Spring Awakening which is *such* a Jack song, it's so sad and beautiful
> 
> Also, Vera is an oc, no relation to either Vera in canon, I just like the name

“I see ghosts,” the woman sitting cross-legged in front of him said, her feet bare and her eyes open and honest. “And I am very sorry about your mother, officer.” Andy glanced at his partner, then pulled out his phone to call Gwen. This was definitely a spooky-doo.

* * *

Vera Martin had always been different. Her mother had called her unique, and her father had called her a witch and far worse before her mother had kicked his arse to the curb. Her aunt had taught Vera how to hone her gifts, how to tell between the shades of the dead and those still walking the earth with solid feet. 

Vera was sixteen when her aunt died. And when her shade didn’t appear, Vera left home. There was nothing there for her anymore. She drifted for years until she ended up in Cardiff. She set up a trade, reading tarot cards and palms and shades. She’d barely been there two months when she attracted the attention of Torchwood.

The men who took her arrived in a big black SUV. Definitely government, definitely secret. Vera expected if she went with them, she would never return. So she elbowed the nice police officer in the gut and ran, coat flapping in the wind, hands cuffed in front of her. She made it about a block before they caught her, cold metal to the back of her neck sending thousands of volts through her body.

She woke up underground. No windows, no proof, but she could tell. Her hands were still cuffed, now to a table. She was alone, a single lightbulb above her head. A one-way mirror was set high into the wall, and Vera looked up at it. They were probably watching her now. She glared, sending her ire to her captors.

Five minutes later, the door opened. A man entered, one of the two from earlier. He was handsome, with a cleft chin and a strong jaw and eyes the color of the sea. His coat was old-fashioned, but he wore it like a second skin. And he had so many shades behind him. 

A man dressed in sandy-colored clothing bearing a familiar resemblance. A man, no, a boy, couldn’t be more than eighteen. A man with big ears and a leather jacket. A woman with dark hair and eyes. A woman with dark curly hair. And there were more, more than could fit into the small room. He was surrounded by his own legion of ghosts.

“I’m so sorry,” Vera said before she could stop herself. The man raised an eyebrow. 

“Sorry about what?” he asked, taking a seat across the table.

“You’ve had so much tragedy,” Vera said. She wanted to hug him but resisted the urge. It wasn’t like she could anyway, with her hands cuffed. “You’ve lived a long time, far longer than your due to gather all these shades.” The color leeched out of the man’s face.

“Who are you?” he demanded, slamming a hand on the table.

“Vera Martin,” she said primly, unflinching in the face of his anger. It would not do to show fear. “I’m a medium, I suppose. I see ghosts.” The man looked at her, intrigued, but not surprised.

“That’s what Davidson said,” he said, crossing his arms. “So, why don’t you tell me exactly what that means, Vera?” She didn’t like the way he said her name. It was bitter but in a way that meant it had nothing to do with her. Bad memories associated with it, she supposed. One of the shades she’d seen?

“It’s really not that impressive,” Vera said. “I can’t communicate with the shades, and I can’t call a specific one. I can’t call them at all. I just see them.”

“Just see them? Where they died?” the man asked. She shook her head.

“I don’t know exactly how it works. But most people have shades that follow them, the ghosts of people they loved or who loved them. They’re not really there. Just… imprints. Marks that have been left on your souls,” Vera explained. He watched her quietly.

“So, what are you?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” she said, offended.

“That’s a very strong gift you have. Must come from somewhere.” His eyes were dark and curious. “Or maybe you came from somewhere. Tell us where and maybe we can get you home.”

“I’m from Birmingham,” Vera said, confused. “And the Sight is a family gift. My aunt had it too, and her father before her.” The man frowned but didn’t reply. 

Instead, he turned toward the door and hollered “Gwen!” After a moment, the door opened, and a gap-toothed woman stepped inside. She didn’t have any shades, but she was still young. And in a job like this, Vera knew it wouldn’t be long before she got a shade… or became one.

“Yes, Jack?” Gwen asked, glancing nervously at Vera. Vera smiled, but it didn’t seem to have the calming effect she wanted. The man, Jack, stood up and disconnected Vera’s cuffs from the table.

“Tell Owen that we’re coming up. I want him to run some tests. And tell Ianto to run a search on Vera Martin from Birmingham,” Jack ordered. He glanced back at Vera and grinned. “Just a few things to make sure you are who you say you are. Hope you don’t mind.” Vera scowled.

“Would it matter if I did?” she asked. Jack laughed, but Gwen just looked sad. She must be the empathetic one, the one to keep all the cold-hearted bastards in line. Vera wondered if her heart had started to freeze instead.

“‘Fraid not,” Jack said, taking her by the arm and leading her out of the room. Gwen had run ahead, so it was just her and Jack as they made their way through the corridors of this secret base.

“Where are we?” Vera asked. It was definitely underground and probably still in Cardiff. But as they walked, she started to realize it was far bigger than any basement she’d seen before. They definitely weren’t in a normal building.

“The Hub,” Jack replied shortly. He didn’t say anything else as they made their way up and out into a large open space. Vera’s eyes went wide as she looked up and around. There were stories of open space above her head and a statue in the middle that looked suspiciously like the one on the Plass. Were they below the Plass?

“Jack,” a voice called. Both Jack and Vera turned to look. A woman was standing there, Asian, probably Japanese. She was dressed nicely, but Vera wondered why she wore heels with all the grating around. She took off her glasses and rubbed at where the nose pieces had rested.

“Yeah, Tosh?” Jack responded cheerfully. Tosh had a shade, just one. A boy of maybe fourteen stood by her side, his dark hair short and spiky. Her child? No, she was in her mid-thirties at the latest; the chances were low. He was probably her brother. Vera felt her heart pang. Seeing children shades always hurt.

“Ianto had me run the background check,” Tosh said, putting her glasses back on. “It came up clean. Vera Martin from Birmingham, born the fifth of March, 1987, to Jacob and Alexa Martin. Unless it’s a very impressive forgery, she’s human and exactly who she says she is,” Tosh said, smiling kindly at Vera. Vera would have smiled back if her heart hadn’t dropped into her stomach. Human? Why would they think she wasn’t human? What did they think she was?

“Where’s Ianto?” Jack asked, hand still firm on Vera’s arm. 

“Right here, sir,” a demure voice came from behind them. Jack spun around, dragging Vera with him. A young man in a suit stood there, and Jack’s face lit up when he saw him. “I was checking the archives for any records of similar powers.” 

Ianto had one shade just like Tosh. His was a woman though, a beautiful dark-skinned woman with short hair. Most likely a former lover. Although, if Vera was reading them right, then Jack was his current lover.

“Any luck?” Jack asked. Ianto shook his head. 

“I’ll keep digging.” Ianto left, and Jack managed to focus his attention back on Vera.

“Alright, let’s get you over to Owen.” They walked across the Hub to a sunken pit on the far side of the room. Jack’s shades surrounded them, and Vera felt almost stifled. But they always moved out of her way and they never touched. Until Vera ran smack-dab into a shade standing at the top of the stairs. She screamed, and the shade shouted back.

“Oi, careful!” he said. Vera scrambled backward as far as Jack would let her face pale with fear. Shades didn’t talk. They never talked. 

“Who are you?” she shouted, totally not hiding behind Jack. The shade crossed his arms, scowl scarring his face like a knife wound.

“That’s Owen,” Jack said, puzzled. “He’s the medic.”

“But he’s a shade! How’s he solid? And talking?” Vera shouted. Jack inhaled sharply, and Owen just looked sad.

“I’m dead,” he said gruffly. “And I was brought back.” Vera snuck out from behind Jack and very slowly approached Owen. He held out his hand, the unbandaged one, and Vera slowly reached her own to touch it. His skin was cool to the touch, no circulation to warm it, but he certainly was alive. Or at least not properly dead.

“I’m sorry,” Vera said for at least the third time that night. And she really was. It was a burden, seeing the shades of the dead. But she carried a peace within her. At least shades were remembered. Shades were loved. She doubted anyone would love her when she went.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” Owen said gruffly before making his way down the stairs. Jack took her arm again and led her down them as well. She took the moment to note, that as a half-shade, Owen didn’t have any shades of his own. Or maybe he never had. But Vera thought otherwise. People like Gwen were the exceptions. Most people had their shades to bear. 

Owen drew blood, scanned her with a strange handheld device, and battered her with all the questions doctors asked. Jack just watched from the side, silent and observant. After maybe fifteen minutes, Ianto appeared again.

“I found a report written about an Arthur Martin back in 1884,” Ianto said without preamble. “Apparently, he reported similar abilities to see the dead.” Vera nodded.

“Artie was the first of us,” Vera said, smiling remembering the stories her aunt had told. “He said he’d been touched but never said by what. Auntie always said it was a metaphor.”

“Might not have been a metaphor,” Jack said thoughtfully. “It was before my time… of course. But I remembered there being stories of a race of beings who could see those who had come before them. Mister Martin, or maybe his parents, must have come into contact with one.”

“Contact meaning?” Owen said, making a face. Jack grinned wildly.

“Oh, yeah. Would explain the genetic component.” Vera was completely lost. They were talking nonsense about her ancestors, Owen was a dead man walking, and you could cut the sexual tension between Jack and Ianto with a butter knife.

“Can I go then?” she hedged, sliding off of the examination table. “I haven’t done anything wrong.” Jack looked at her, and for a moment, Vera was terrified. She was never going to see the sun again. She would live out the rest of her days, however many she had, in the ground with this man and his army of shades.

“Sure,” Jack said. Vera breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re harmless.” Vera tried to cross her arms indignantly, then realized her hands were still cuffed. Jack chuckled and motioned for Ianto to go uncuff her. “We’ll just let Owen finish running his tests, and if you’re all clear, you can go home. In the meantime, there are a few things you’ll need to know.”

“About what?” Vera asked, rubbing at her newly-freed wrists. Jack smirked.

“About Torchwood.”


End file.
